Pinterest Prompts
by KeJae
Summary: This a collection of one shots using prompts and inspiration from Pinterest that I've been compiling for some time.
1. Coming Back

**Coming Back**

* * *

 **A man searches through the basement of an abandoned research facility. He uncovers a steel capsule surrounded by life support equipment. Inside he finds…**

Meandering through the abandoned location, the lead agent made his way into the lowest and most secure level of the facility. "Figures they would be hiding something big down here… but what is still the question." He muttered as he looked around the lab.

It looked like any ordinary research facility. A mixture of computers, microscopes, books, and various experiments were scattered about based on workstations. Then there was a door with extra security on it.

Cocking his head, the agent smiled. "This has got to be something good." He purred happily. If he recovered something special, it could mean that promotion he'd been looking at.

Approaching the door with caution, he knew that anything special and guarded that highly could also have unseen traps. Moving slowly, he hacked the security and opened the door. "Nothing?"

All that greeted him was an apparently empty storage closet that had likely contained valuable supplies and research results at one time, but it had been left to serve as a decoy when the location was abandoned.

Sighing as he began to poke around into the storage slots, he hoped something had been missed. Then seeing a button recessed into the wall behind some deteriorating debris, he decided to push it and see what happened.

Jumping back as the entire wall swung out to create a double entrance into a recessed room, he went back to believing he had uncovered something big. There was a steel capsule in the middle of the room!

Continuing forward, he entered the space and walked around the capsule at a distance identifying the various machinery around it. They were all forms of life support, so whatever the capsule had contained had been living. Would there be any evidence as to what… or who, had been held captive inside?

Opening the lid with his gun drawn, he was prepared to shoot if necessary.

When the lid finished the slow process of lifting up while lights turned on and air shifted between the two spaces, a sound caught his attention. Whoever had been held in the capsules, was still in there and alive, because they breathed!

Calling in to report his find, he knew that promotion was sure to be his. He had found a hostage, but not just any hostage, one Agent Bryce Larkin. He was alive after being shot dead…. the second time.

* * *

 **He woke up in a morgue with no memory. On a table next to him was a brown envelope marked 'Confidential.'**

He was cold, and oh so tired. The surface he was laying on was hard, with a metallic cold to it that seemed to have seeped into his very bones. On top of that, it felt like he had been sleeping for a very long time; and yet no time at all.

Opening his eyes, he closed them again quickly. Even the dull light around him couldn't compete with the bright light focused on his person causing him to see blinding white.

Groaning, he sensed that he needed to open his eyes. An elusive feeling of danger seemed to swirl around him, reminding him that he hadn't been safe the last time he was conscious. Forcing them open, he realized he was in the morgue.

There were cold slabs of stainless steel lined up at various points around the room, most were empty, but one had a brown envelope on it. Continuing to observe his surrounding, he noticed the freezers, equipment, and swinging doors all typical of the environment.

Moving to get off of the cart, he wobbled and dropped to the floor. His legs were as useful for walking as Jello so he moved to a seated position and let his system regain its equilibrium.

Using the time wisely, he stretched and rubbed his muscles working his blood into limbs and through his system faster.

Once he felt better, he moved to crawl across the floor in a crawl before you walk kind of thing. Then when he reached the other cart he used it to help him climb back up until he could reach the envelope.

Easing back down to the floor, he shivered from the cold it also contained but ignored it.

Reading the front, the envelope said 'Confidential.' With no one around to answer his questions, he flipped the top open and slid a folder out into his lap. Lifting it up, it had a name typed along the edge tab. 'Bryce Larkin, Agent' was all it said.

Feeling like the name was familiar, but not knowing why, he turned the cover to see what it contained.

The first page showed a smiling face of a young man with records of schooling at Stanford. This section ended with notes about his recruitment to the CIA. "Huh." He didn't know what to think of that.

Moving on to the next page, he found that most of the information was blacked out. What he could read of the information indicated a legendary hero, someone he could possibly admire, but ended when he reached the death certificate, and then another death certificate?

Frowning, he wondered how someone could die twice. Then again, why was he looking at someone's file, and why did it seem so familiar, or matter?

"Are you finished looking through your records Agent Larkin?" A voice as hard and cold as the steel around him echoed through the space.

Flinching, he had been caught unaware of anyone being around. Looking around the room again, he noticed it was still empty. Redirecting his focus upward, he noticed a speaker for a sound system and figured the voice had come from there.

'Great, I'm being watched,' was the first thought to cross his mind. Then it dawned on him that he had been addressed as this Agent Larkin he had just been reading about. "So, I'm Agent Larkin?" He questioned the voice. Everything was hazy for him before waking up in the room.

"Do you not know who you are?" The voice repeated, a woman's voice. She sounded secure in her position and used to being obeyed, a person of rank.

"No, mam." He answered. There was no point in lying, considering he had already asked the question revealing the truth.

There was a muffled sigh, and some talking blocked from his hearing. He could hear the sound, but not distinguish the words.

"Guards will be on hand in a moment to escort you. Our scientists will endeavor to figure out what happened to your memory. You are officially off of field duty until further notice and will be restricted to the labs until this situation can be cleared up. Do you understand me?" She barked.

"Yes, mam," he kept it simple. The details weren't clear, but the intent was. She was going to hold him somewhere until he remembered.

As expected, the doors swung open while he answered to reveal four men in uniform. They were armed and directed him to accompany them.

Walking him down a hallway, the guards assisted him whenever he seemed to stumble, and then carried him after his legs tired shortly into the walk.

Opening another set of doors, they placed him into a seat where he found himself engulfed in testing equipment.

This seemed to bring up flashes of panicked moments, but he couldn't remember enough to really fear the situation. Instead, he hoped they would get him answers. He could always act later if he needed to, once he remembered how to act anyway.

Glancing through the machines, he saw his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing a white set of scrubs, but his face was an older version of the man in the file. What had happened to him?

* * *

 **"** **I don't have a license to kill. I have a learner's permit."**

Holding the gun in his hand felt wrong. Although he knew he had carried one before, even used one to kill others, it still felt alien in his hands.

"You have a license to kill. What do you have to worry about? It's not like you haven't done all of this before." His handler for the Red Test stated calmly.

Although he had regained his memory and could utilize most of his skills, he seemed to have lost something with guns. "I don't have a license to kill. I have a learner's permit." That was putting it mildly. Due to his memory issues, he was technically a field agent, but going through the training, again.

Snorting, the instructor didn't seem to care. Instead, they gave him his instructions and watched as he walked out the door.

Going through the process, he was able to pass certification for being a field agent, but still lacked something of his old self. He wasn't the same spy he had been before dying again.

Instead, the general decided to assign him to an old case. It was one where he could play nonviolent and allow others to carry the guns for him, but still allowed him to be useful by accomplishing an old mission.

* * *

 **"** **Hold on, you** ** _died_** **." "Yeah, well it didn't stick."**

Working with the FBI wasn't the most glamorous assignment, and it wasn't the dullest either.

There was glamour. Living in a mansion and wearing Devore suits certainly had its appeal. Then there were undercover operations at fancy events and playing exciting roles.

However, there were dull aspects to the job to, like working in a bland office without anything interesting to look at. Mortgage fraud cases were like sleeping pills, piles of sleeping pills with nothing of interest that always seemed to be waiting in the wings when more exciting cases didn't require attention. And even getting out of the office could mean sitting in the van… the cramped, smelly van where he had to listen to someone else have all the fun.

Sighing as he sat tapping his pen on his desk, Neal couldn't believe that he was this bored. After dying twice, you'd think he would find life exhilarating, or have a new zest for freedom, but he was instead overwhelmed by the boredom.

Three straight weeks of nothing but mortgage fraud, the office, and the van… nothing was going on!

Sure, he didn't want super soldiers, nukes, or the stability of the free world at stake, but couldn't someone rob a museum of a painting?

Hearing the elevator ding, he looked up to see who was about to enter the office.

A man got out of the car and pushed through the doors into the White Collar unit. He was looking around, unsure of whom to speak with when his eyes landed on the first desk.

Seeming to expect something of a secretary, his eyes widen and he blurted. "Aren't you supposed to be dead, Bryce?"

Wanting to facepalm, Bryce couldn't help but think he got what he wished for as the entire office stopped and turned to look at him. "I believe you have me mistaken for someone else." He tried the bland way of getting out. The man was a former frat brother, from his college years.

"No, I don't. You're Bryce Larkin, the dude I went to school with as a fraternity brother." Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his phone. "Here, I even have a picture from that night we were gaming and posed for a picture. There is you, Chuck, Harry, and I." The picture was turned for him to see.

Sure enough, there is his smiling face looking back at him. "That is odd how much we look alike, but I'm telling you, that isn't me."

Snorting, the man wasn't giving up like he hoped he would. "See the scar tracing along the side of your face there? You still have a faint line in the same place. It's not likely two doppelgangers would have the same scar." Getting a bit angry, the man threw in another jab. "I don't know why you treated Chuck the way you did, but I won't fall for your games."

"Neal, what is he talking about?" Peter joined the conversation and had his hands on his hips. He was obviously in speech mode.

Sighing, Bryce tilted his head back and muttered in Klingon. Then bringing his head back down, he lightly glared at his former friend. "Why do you have to be so persistent? Besides, how do you even remember that scar?" It's not like they were particularly close?

"I gave it to you, remember?" The man crossed his arms.

Thinking back, he couldn't remember. "Maybe my memories didn't come back as much as we thought…" He muttered. No matter how much he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with the memory of how he got the scar.

Growling, Peter wanted an answer, and he was getting tired of waiting. "Neal?"

Turning to face his handler, and he had to admit friend, Bryce tried to figure out what to say. "I can't answer your questions. Not only because I apparently don't remember as well as I thought, but because I'm not allowed to."

Frowning deeper, Peter ordered his agents to handle the man's case. "Neal, we're going for a walk."

Getting up, Bryce looked around at the office. "Don't research that name, unless you want to get a phone call or personal visit from Washington." After delivering his cryptic warning, he turned to walk out the door with Peter.

Riding the elevator silently down, followed by an equally silent walk, Peter decided to get into his car and drive. It was private with only the two of them.

Grabbing coffees and heading for the nearest park, he found a secluded spot and ordered, "Spill it, Neal. What was that all about?"

Waiting until after Peter had swallowed a sip, Bryce answered. "In college, I was brought into some government stuff... I can't say what, but technically it got me killed."

"Hold on, you _died_." Peter seemed to be having trouble wrapping his head around that.

"Yeah, well it didn't stick." Bryce shrugged. He wasn't going to mention how many times he had died. "Anyway, last time I woke up in a morgue without much memory. It took a lot of scientists some time to figure out what my problem was and help me get my memory back, but I still don't have it all and aren't even the same person anymore. Because I can't do my job to the standards I used to carry, I was reassigned to play Caffrey. Once again, I cannot tell you why, or any details."

Sipping on his coffee silently for a while, Peter didn't seem to have anything to say. Then he made a small comment, something that didn't seem like much in itself, but meant a whole lot in context. "I'm glad it didn't stick."

Releasing a tension he didn't even know he had, Bryce relaxed and was finally able to drink his coffee.

"So, is any of the criminal stuff real?" Peter questioned with a thoughtful expression.

"No, I only pretend to be a criminal," Bryce answered the general question. He had already admitted to being government, so he might as well get that out there too.

Relaxing as well, Peter seemed to be happier for the exchange.

"You aren't mad?" Bryce couldn't help but wonder. Would he really get to keep his strange friendship with the agent?

"No… not really anyway. I mean, I wasted a lot of time chasing a criminal that wasn't, which isn't something I'm thrilled with." Peter bounced his head while he continued to think. "However, I don't actually have to teach you how to be an honest citizen, so there are perks to this."

Smiling slightly, Bryce couldn't help but be amused. "You count not having to teach me how to be honest a perk?"

"Being government playing a role means you're more honest than a real criminal, but I didn't see this coming so you're also really good at lying. Since you mentioned that you've been killed before, the more skilled you are at hiding the better. So, yeah, not having to teach you how to be honest is a huge weight off of my shoulders." Peter smiled lightly back at him. There was genuine friendship in his expression and he seemed to be happy knowing the truth.

Feeling a warmth; Bryce realized what he had been missing since he woke up on the cold slab. Feelings, the feelings of friendship, belonging, and family. Seeing the welcoming look on Peter's face, he knew he would have a tough run ahead of him, but he wouldn't be alone anymore.

"I think I'm finally coming back to myself." And he meant it. Not the spy, or con, but the man. He was finally coming back to being himself.

* * *

Thank you, everyone, for reading, reviewing/commenting, leaving kudos, and choosing to favorite :D


	2. Super Spy

**Super Spy**

* * *

 **You are an assassin. You don't use explosives, guns, or poison. You are a master of the butterfly effect.**

Bryce Larkin had a reputation in the CIA. When his assassin training was called into action, he was never sent to simply kill someone. He was sent to destroy their organization before causing their enemies to kill them for him.

The challenges were that he could never be associated with them, wasn't to be seen, or interact with anyone connected to the operation. He was the mastermind puppeteer who operated from behind the scenes in a fashion that left no one realizing anything had even happened. Bryce was the embodiment of bad luck.

Going into the field for his latest mission, he seemed like any other man simply walking down the street and admiring the local scenery; just another tourist.

Taking his pictures, he gathered information of who, what, when, where, and why. Everything he would need to make his plans work.

With the information collected, he simply needed to put everything into motion. An action so simple, no one would ever guess it was an assassination. All he did was to… well, that would be telling. Something he never did.

He wouldn't be so intimidating or scary if his methods were known, and no one needs an assassin who has lost his touch.

Instead, the mission went into his file as another success. Even his mission reports made the bosses wondered how he managed to make something so innocent, so harmless-seeming, cause so much destruction.

To those not cleared for the information, the story was a black line blocking words, or conspiracy theories detailing possible reasons for why such a strong criminal empire could crumble so easily, in so little time.

Bryce Larkin wasn't just an assassin; he was a master of the butterfly effect.

* * *

 **You have come so close to dying so many times that you've met Death on numerous occasions.**

 **So much so, that you've made quite a close relationship with Death.**

It didn't take many years in the field before Bryce had experienced Death… a lot. He had been shot, stabbed, poisoned, nearly blown up, tortured, and so on. There weren't many means of dying that he hadn't nearly experienced at some point or another.

After everything he had been through, he was no longer afraid. Death was like an old friend, a shadow he would feel walking with him when he was going on a particularly dangerous mission.

So it was no surprise when he felt the familiar feeling of his friend Death walking along beside him as he headed to his latest rendezvous point. Would he die, would he have to kill, or perhaps a combination of both?

Asking the shadows, he knew he wasn't going to get an answer. Death might be a friend, a presence that accompanied him into particularly dangerous situations, but Death never talked to him. He was a silent presence that accompanied him through his work.

Ignoring the lack of response, he kept walking to the building taking every precaution possible.

Sitting above them in the upper rafters, he watched the representatives of the mob as they meandered around the building waiting for him. There was something off to their behavior. Then it hit him, they knew he was a spook.

Moving back around to the entrance, he pretended to arrive and acted naïve to his blown cover.

"Sorry, I'm late boys, ran into an old friend along the way." He greeted them cheerily without describing who that friend was.

"Did your friend accompany you, or did you come alone as agreed upon?" One of the goons asked.

"Oh, my friend is always with me in dangerous situations such as this. I can't exactly leave him behind." Bryce smirked at their expressions as they looked around for someone. "You won't see him, he isn't one for leaving the shadows." Then he smiled as their focuses were directed towards every shadow big enough to hide a man.

Pulling his gun to point it into Bryce's face, the leader wasn't pleased. "We agreed you would come alone. I think I should kill you and be done with this before anything else goes sideways."

"Not like you didn't intend to do so anyway? I've known since before I arrived, but listening to your conversation from above confirmed it." Bryce dropped the pretense of pleasantness.

Cocking the gun, the goon prepared to shoot. "How did you know before you arrived, did your friend tell you?"

"My friend always shows up when situations like this are about to happen. His presence is a dead giveaway." Bryce quirked his eyebrow and smirked at his private joke.

"Who is your friend?" The man was getting nervous. He could sense that something bad was about to happen. Perhaps his own sense of Death's presence had kicked in?

"Death." Bryce hissed as he ducked away from the gun and moved forward to attack the leader.

Taking out the main opponent made the rest of them unorganized and easier to take on. Grabbing the item they were fighting over, he took off running for cover.

Once he dove behind some crates, he was able to take a more proactive stance. Instead of blindly firing in the general direction of the opponents, he began picking them off based on who was visible, firing at him, and where they stood in the line of leadership.

Hearing them scatter, he understood the Russian they jabbered at each other. They were going to blow the place and him with it… or at least, that was their plan.

Knowing that he needed to move, Bryce started to run for the nearest exit. Reaching the window, he dove below it as the area was peppered with gunfire.

So, that was how they wanted to play, was it. Bryce knew then that it was a mixture of both. He had killed some of theirs, and they were determined to kill him.

Determined to at least give them a good battle, Bryce wasn't going to go down easy, indeed, if he even went down at all. He wasn't reputed as a super spy for nothing.

Rolling away from the opening, he began climbing to a higher level carrying all the valuable items with him. He had both the money and the information. Not a bad catch for an operation nearly going sideways. However, he still needed to make it out alive before it would ultimately matter.

Reaching the roof level, he saw that the building extended out further into two directions. He was standing on top of the main building and surveying the layout of the yard around. Based on the lack of gunfire, they hadn't seen him yet, but the rumbles building up from below meant the smaller explosions were starting. If he didn't move, the whole place would go and take him with it.

Not looking back, he leaped from the roof he was on down to the level below. Then he started running like his life depended on it because it did.

Putting every ounce of his strength and energy into the effort, he raced across the rooftop making it a fair distance before it was even noticed that he had left the main portion of the building.

Ducking and weaving, he managed to dodge most of their bullets, but one hit him in the shoulder and sent him flying off of the ridge. Sliding down the metal coverings, he tried to grasp at anything with his good arm but came up with nothing but smooth metal. Falling off the edge, he managed to catch the end of the roof and slow down his descent, but he still plunged two stories towards the ground.

Dropping into a ball, he hit the ground hard and jarred his injury, but was able to roll enough to prevent any serious damage.

Pulling out his gun, he fired off rounds at the lead mobsters who were running the fastest towards him. His shots stopped two of them, but three more were still approaching quickly.

Reaching the relative safety of the large shipping containers, he knew he stood a chance, but only if he could lose his tails in the maze.

Twisting and turning, he ran quickly and quietly until he reached the edge of the yard. Then after making a mad dash, he slipped through his hole in the fence to the other side. He raced over the slight ridge in the ground and practically flew down the other side as he jumped off of it.

Getting into his car, he switched into gear and raced off into the night. Speeding as fast as the car could go, he reached a more populated area of the city before switching tactics. Slowing down to match the rest of the traffic, he meandered his way around for a while to ensure he didn't have any tails.

Ditching his car in a parking garage, he switched to his backup and left by another exit before repeating his means of losing a tail.

Once he was sure it was clear, he reported to his bosses for treatment and post operation debriefing.

The shadow of his friend Death had left him, but he knew it wouldn't be their last meeting. He was a spy, and he faced Death every day so they had developed a close relationship.

* * *

 **I'm close to very few people but those few people mean everything to me.**

Bryce Larkin was a spy, and a good one, which meant that he didn't have ties. To the world there was no one who could be used against him, nowhere he would rather be than where he was, and nothing that could hurt him. But the world was wrong.

He had two places he liked to be.

California had a curly-haired nerd, someone who smiled and meant it, who gave puppy dog betrayed eyes instead of trying to shoot when he was hurt. Chuck was his best friend since his school days, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for him.

In college, he had seen the government going after his friend so he had stepped in to take his place. That led to him allegedly betraying him, which was a double-edged sword. Chuck was safe, but he had lost his best friend.

Still, despite the appearance of betrayal on the surface, he hoped for his friend, imagined him landing on his feet somehow and putting a new life together. Sure, it wouldn't be the game design company they had once dreamed of building together, but it wouldn't be the darkness of always looking over his shoulder wary of the many traitors putting a knife through his back, the battle of life and death that permeated the struggle of supremacy between the government and their enemies. Chuck had his family, his other best friend, his life, and the freedom to choose what he did with that. And it was the best Bryce could do for him.

Then there was the FBI agent that chased one of his aliases. Even he mattered because he was smart, honest, and an honorable agent who did his best to ensure justice had a fair chance.

Agent Peter Burke was the brilliant man who kept Neal Caffrey on his toes and dancing just out of reach. It was a game to Bryce, a way to interact with someone who personified why he fought the battle, who reminded him of the naïve boy who signed a contract with the CIA in order to make a difference. He was the link to the young man who had once trained to be a cop before his world crumbled into dust like a house of cards built on a foundation of lies.

Peter mattered because he was another reminder of the humanity that was still somewhere inside of Bryce.

These were the men that could be used against Bryce Larkin, and he would do anything to protect them.

To protect Chuck, he had allegedly betrayed him and been accused of stealing his girlfriend, but Bryce had played along with all of it, even if he didn't understand why Jill was ditching her boyfriend because he knew it pushed Chuck away and protected him. For Peter, he kept the persona of the annoying criminal he was working so hard to catch. He didn't allow the agent to surface or be traced to the alias. Otherwise, Peter would be in danger every time someone wanted something of Bryce. And he couldn't have that.

So, instead, he kept his friendship secret even from his friends. They knew he had played a role in their lives, but neither knew the extent of how much he valued them, or how far he was willing to go to protect them. Because if they knew, then the world might find out, and if the world knew, then it was likely that his enemies would learn, and that would put them into danger.

If you asked anyone, Bryce Larkin was a cold-hearted and focused agent who cared for no one and only worked to get the job done. Bryce liked it that way because no one suspected that he was close to anyone, and no one knew that those few meant everything to him.

* * *

Thank you, everyone, for reading, following, choosing to favorite, leaving kudos, and reviewing/commenting :D

For those who are interested, I've been working on my Pinterest pages so you can see where this series comes from. The pins for this story have been hunted down (sneak peeks on the next two weeks ;) and my monster of secret collections is down to triple digits while the rest is now public viewable which is progress ;)


	3. Teasing the FBI

**Teasing the FBI**

* * *

 **"** **This coffee tastes weird." "That's probably because it's not coffee."**

Sitting in the van trying to figure out what their suspect was up to; Peter lifted the nearest cup to his lips and began to drink it absently. Pulling it back with a shake of his head, he commented. "This coffee tastes weird."

Laughing from the seat beside him, the probie Diana laughed. "That's probably because it's not coffee."

Realizing that he had stolen her drink, Peter apologized and offered to spring for a replacement.

Lifting it to her own mouth, Diana smirked. "I can stand a few germs. Besides, your face as you drank it was plenty of payment." She knew she could away with a slight tease since he had stolen her drink, but she wasn't going to push her luck by carrying it too far.

Smiling, Peter enjoyed her frank response and could afford the teasing in exchange for his mistakenly taking her drink. "I guess we're even then."

"Unless you decide to steal any more of it," She smiled behind the cup. There wasn't much chance of that; he hadn't shown any appreciation of her Chai and green tea.

Making a face at the remembered taste, Peter reassured her. "There isn't much chance of that. I don't understand how you can stand that stuff."

"It's good for me, and better than all that coffee everyone is always drinking." She was enjoying the conversation but split her attention to the screen she was supposed to be monitoring.

"You'd better find a way to enjoy coffee, it's like water around the office after a long stakeout or during a dull day spent filling out bureaucratic paperwork," Peter warned. He loved the stuff and had no problem drinking nearly anything, including the office sludge.

* * *

 **"** **For you, I could steal the stars – but I can also get them through legitimate means, if that impresses you more."**

Inside the downtown restaurant, the FBI was observing, Neal Caffrey, or Alecio Marseille as was his alias for the encounter, was dressed as a charming French aristocrat and attempting to woo an American heiress.

"For you, I could steal the stars - but I can also get them through legitimate means, if that impresses you more." He crooned in a heavy accent.

Practically melting, the woman loved every minute of the game. They had been wining and dining through the city whenever she had an event to go to or an evening free for romance.

Using the girl's slips of information, Neal intended to break into her father's vault and steal some particularly valuable papers along with a painting or two from the house along the way. It was a profitable endeavor, and a great deal of fun for him as he enjoyed the beautiful young woman and all of her charms.

Getting a tip from their balding and short-statured waiter, he took leave of their conversation to slip into the men's room. Slipping into the back area of the restaurant with the little man, the two made a hasty departure before the FBI entered the premises looking for them.

* * *

 **"** **You don't get to pin this break-in on me." "But you were the one who broke in!"**

Choosing to proceed with their plans, and hoping they were one step ahead of the FBI, the two criminals made their way past the mansion's security and into the main area of the home. Since the vault contained the most financially beneficial items, they chose to begin there in an effort to boost their dwindling resources.

Although it had the potential to be worth it, the young heiress had expensive tastes so the con had cost them a great deal. They needed the monetary boost to afford running from the FBI.

While Neal worked his way into the safe, Mozzie collected the paintings of choice and carefully put them into transportable containers.

Slinging them over his shoulder when he finished, he checked on his friend. Neal was busy cleaning out the safe, so they were soon sneaking away from the mansion.

Hearing the alarms go off, they took off at a run and hurried to escape without being caught.

Once they were further away from the scene, Neal breathlessly commented. "You don't get to pin this break-in on me."

"But you were the one who broke in!" Mozzie was quick to point out.

"Yeah, but it was your idea." Neal turned towards him with a smile. He loved the adrenaline rush that followed a successful heist, and a chance to tease his friend made it even better.

Sniffing, Mozzie accepted the compliment. "Of course it was, but you were the one who was able to get the secrets from her in order to pull it all off."

Proud of their accomplishment, the two cons went to retrieve their possessions for moving on to a new location. New York was getting too hot with Agent Burke leading the investigations into their activities.

* * *

 **"** **I hope we draw the attention of the FBI." "Are you insane?" "I've never seen anyone kick a door in before. It's so exciting!"**

Neal and Mozzie had been working together for a few years. They had accomplished a collection of successful heists and cons through Europe, a sprinkle through Asia, Africa, and South America, and had built a strong reputation in the United States for their legendary ability to get the job done without being caught.

Returning to the city after a while abroad, Neal commented to his friend. "I hope we draw the attention of the FBI."

"Are you insane?" Mozzie questioned from where he was arranging supplies. Looking over at his tired friend, he wondered if the man was more exhausted than he seemed.

Grinning from the lounge chair where he was relaxing, Neal glanced over from where he had been staring at the ceiling. "I've never seen anyone kick a door in before. It's so exciting!"

"I have a friend, big guy, who can kick in doors. Remind me to ask him over when this job is done. Then you can watch him kick in a door or two without the risk of the FBI arresting either of us." Mozzie suggested.

Seeming appeased, Neal didn't make any more comments and went back to staring at the ceiling as he drifted off to sleep.

Deciding to delay the job slightly, Mozzie opted for Neal to get more rest so he would be on his game when the time came.

* * *

 **They stood hunched over the intricate map with shock and realization etched on their faces.**

The FBI team had been working hard to catch Neal Caffrey and the shadow man who supported him. Although they didn't have much information on the backer, they had a growing compilation on Neal.

Working through their information from the streets, the team was doing their best to predict what Neal was planning with his return to the city. There was a lot of chatter in the criminal underground and their street contacts were slipping them what they could get their hands on. Putting it all together, the information began to form a picture.

They stood hunched over the intricate map with shock and realization etched on their faces. Neal Caffrey was going to be involved in a heist, a very big one!

Working to come up with a counter plan, the team dispersed to begin their roles. There wasn't much time to put them into action so there was a flurry of activity as they tried to beat the cons.

* * *

 **"** **Should we let him know we're on to him?" "Now, where's the fun in that?"**

Watching the activity from positions of their own, Neal and Mozzie enjoyed the FBI's belief that they were slipping into position unnoticed.

"Should we let him know we're on to him?" Neal smiled as he watched Peter directing his team in their activities. It was like he wanted the cons to know he was present by the law enforcement air he was giving and his familiar voice barking commands.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" Mozzie preferred the idea of leaving the oblivious agents to their work while they got away with the crime right under their noses.

Shrugging, Neal decided not to risk the wrath of their crew. The others wouldn't be so forgiving of him, and he had a reputation in the criminal world to keep. Besides, he decided to leave Peter to the belief that the room only had innocent staff in it and no external observation. It meant their surveillance and extra equipment had gone unnoticed.

* * *

 **She smiled a little, "You're a manipulator." "I like to think of myself as an outcome engineer."**

When the day came to accomplish the heist, it was a battle of wits. The FBI held their positions hoping to catch the cons, and the cons endeavored to complete their tasks right under their noses. Both sides accomplished their tasks, but neither was completely successful.

Seeing the situation about to explode, Neal took his portion of the loot and fled the scene. He had completed his portion of the work and placed the goods in the agreed upon spot for the rest of the crew. Whether they made it out to retrieve it or gave it up to the Feds hoping for a lighter sentence, was up to each of them.

Purchasing the tickets for himself and Mozzie, he enjoyed a little harmless flirting with the associate behind the counter hoping she would throw in some upgrades for him.

She smiled a little, "You're a manipulator."

Knowing he could work her awareness in his favor, Neal smiled in reflection. "I like to think of myself as an outcome engineer."

The flirting worked. She lowered her head while raising her eyes at him. Then biting her lip, she informed him of the upgrades she had added for him before sending him on his way.

Having successfully evaded the FBI, it was another point for Neal and Mozzie, with another lost round for Peter and his team.

* * *

Thank you, everyone, for reading, commenting/reviewing, leaving kudos, following, and choosing to favorite:D

Alright, you know the drill and it's that time again. This collection will end next week so I need to know which completed story you would like to see next. Check out my profile page and either PM me or tag your choice into a review and the one with the most votes will win. Happy voting :D


	4. The Mission

**The Mission**

* * *

 **The phone rings. The voice on the other end says "We need you again." then hangs up.**

Neal was lazing about his apartment when his phone started ringing. Picking it up, he answered the call.

"We need you again." An unfamiliar voice stated the bland phrase.

As the line clicked, he rolled his eyes and set the phone back down. "Of course you do." With a sigh, he walked across his apartment, opened the closet door, and walked to the back. Sliding a couple of suits aside, he opened a secret panel and removed a duffle bag.

Changing, he pulled out a t-shirt that said 'suit up' showing a version of himself in a suit between the U and the P. It was comfortable, nerdy, and playful. Combined with an easy pair of jeans and shoes flexible for running, and he was ready to go.

* * *

 **You know, no one bothered me this much when I was dead.**

Entering the secret substation meant walking into the inconspicuous restaurant upstairs, pretending to meet some friends, going through a back party room with the doors closing behind, flashing his badge at the rear waiter for entrance to the closet, and then scanning of his fingerprints, retinal's, and voice recognition before an elevator ride. Of course, the agency couldn't leave out the maze of hallways and chambers for him to walk before he came to the correct door. Knocking, his guides stated his arrival before the door was opened and he was directed to enter.

Taking his seat, Neal was no longer a con artist. He was Bryce Larkin, Agent in charge, an officer of the CIA. "You know, no one bothered me this much when I was dead," he smirked at the general.

"That's because we need you alive again." Then she got down to business.

* * *

 **What do you mean, work with him? He tried to kill me!**

Listening as she ran through what the mission would entail, Bryce wasn't bothered by anything until she stated who his partner was going to be for the operation.

"What do you mean, work with him? He tried to kill me! More than once… and technically succeeded once!" Seriously, he was going to be assigned Casey? That complicated things. Sure, the two could work together when they had to, their few brief run-ins after Chuck entered the picture proved that, but they were more accustomed to working against each other as rival agencies.

"Yes, you will be working with Agent Casey. You know as well as I do that he is the best military person to support your mission, and he is also the most likely to keep up with you." She was stern and immobile. The mission had been given, and it was going to be followed.

With a resounding slap, the case files hit the table forcefully. Bryce knew what he needed to do, and he was going to complete his job regardless.

"Oh, and that means Chuck will be in the picture with Agent Walker." The general added in parting as he reentered the hallways of the underground warren.

* * *

 **You don't strike me as a professional criminal. That's what makes me so good at it.**

Making his way back toward the surface, Bryce wasn't startled when his old friend started walking beside him. Chuck was the same person in so many ways, and yet he was someone completely new and different. This wasn't the calm nerd he had gone to school with, this was that same man years later who had been through loss, and who had seen things most couldn't comprehend.

"You don't strike me as a professional criminal." His voice was calm, something that would be expected of an experienced agent.

"That's what makes me so good at it." No one even slightly suspected him of being anything more than the character he portrayed. Something he was proud of.

"So, tell me about yourself. What have you been doing since the white room?" Something of the old Chuck surfaced again; he was trying to repair the damage with his best friend.

"Well…" Bryce shifted back into Neal as the elevator door slid closed. Soon he would be reentering the surface world, a place where he needed to keep his cover just in case.

* * *

 **You know, normal people don't have a basement full of weapons. I'll have you know that every single one of these knives saved my life at least once. What about that gun over there? Oh, that? That's just for decoration.**

Talking as they made their way to the rendezvous point, the two agents worked through some of their standing issues, things that had hung over their friendship for years.

Beginning to genuinely laugh again, they were making a good start when they ended up in front of an apartment building.

"So here is where the colonel has been living lately… I run past this for my morning exercise every day." Neal paused in concentration. "No wonder I get the feeling someone is watching me…"

Smacking him in the chest, where the red light was pointed at his heart, Chuck glared at the window it was emanating from. "Spy senses tingling?"

"Ha-ha." Neal shoved his hand away. "The colonel won't kill me, at least not right now. We're supposed to be working together for this operation."

Opening the door, the man in question revealed that it was only the laser sight in his hands. "Who knows, I could have taken you out so many times over the last month." There was an underlying eagerness of the trigger happy assassin to his expression.

"I'm on assignment, so you still would have had to explain to the Pentagon and multiple agencies why you killed an agent you had no reason to kill. Just because I died on you last time, doesn't mean I did something stupid like change sides." Neal let a little Bryce back into his stance as he sized up against the larger man. If they were going to work together, then they would have to get their antagonism out of their systems somewhere other than the field.

"Alright, be nice, both of you." Sarah entered the room. She was still the same serious agent when she wanted to be, even though Chuck had allowed her to reconnect with her softer side.

Separating, the two agents turned serious. Walking down the hidden staircase to the weapons armory hidden in the basement, Bryce chose a different way to mess with the colonel.

"You know, normal people don't have a basement full of weapons." They weren't normal, but that didn't mean he couldn't point out the assassin traits of the older agent.

"I'll have you know that every single one of these knives saved my life at least once." Casey waved his hand toward the large selection of weapons. They weren't his favorite means of fighting, but he was as capable with the blades as anyone.

"What about that gun over there?" Bryce pointed at an unnecessarily large specimen hung on another wall. Since the colonel loved guns, it probably had a good story attached.

"Oh, that? That's just for decoration." Casey's eyes gleamed as he looked at it. There wasn't a story yet, but he was just waiting for the opportunity to make one.

With a twitch of his mouth, Bryce managed to suppress the smile from fully spreading while shaking his head and selecting his weapons for the mission.

* * *

 **We have five people trying to kill us right now, what are we supposed to do? Actually, it's more like eight. Oh, sorry I wasn't specific enough!**

"We have five people trying to kill us right now, what are we supposed to do?"

Crouched behind a barrier, Bryce was sitting with a gun in each hand while Chuck questioned him. He had just dropped from returning fire, but the reinforcements made him find cover. "Actually, it's more like eight." Why did the man feel the need to ask him anyway, like he always had the plans? "You're the supercomputer, don't you have an idea?"

"Oh, sorry I wasn't specific enough!" Chuck snarked in frustration. They were separated from the rest of the team, their backup wasn't going to make it in time, and they were running low on ammunition while the enemy was gaining the advantage.

Doing his best to provide cover so the enemy didn't get them surrounded, Bryce really hoped Chuck would come up with something. He didn't have a brilliant idea of his own; he was too busy keeping them covered.

Getting a spark of inspiration, Chuck chose to run with it before it was too late. Grabbing Bryce by the back of his collar, he drug him along as the agent endeavored to use the last of the ammunition to cover their retreat.

Throwing the useless gun away, Bryce turned to see what Chuck had in mind. Even though his head said 'oh, no' at the thought of jumping out of the third story window, he knew they didn't have any other choice.

With a pair of shouts, they broke the glass leaping into the open air.

Falling, falling, falling…

Watching the ground rushing up towards him, Bryce looked for any way to ease the landing. Spotting a cable stretched across the yard, he managed to grab it briefly for a slight reduction of speed. Then he hit the first story roof before dropping into a roll, falling the last story, and pulling another roll to rise to his feet running.

Chuck had matched his moves all the way down and the two fled into the darkness as bullets bounced and ricocheted behind them.

* * *

 **No, I said we were safer, not safe.**

Reporting in, Chuck informed the others that they were safer, but the rumbling of vehicles approaching meant the chase wasn't over yet.

Pounding pavement again, the two agents sought shelter to evade the pursuing enemy, or if they were lucky to find weapons and cover to be able to defend themselves against them.

As neither was forthcoming, they continued to race through the back streets of the industrial complex of New York City.

"I thought you said you were safe?" came the worried voice of Agent Walker through their earpieces.

"No, I said we were safer, not safe." Chuck clarified again. They weren't surrounded and about to die, but there was the chance it could still happen.

Running and climbing, they hurried to cross rooftops until they reached a building high enough for rescue to reach them.

Dropping in with a helicopter to pick them up from the rooftop, Casey retrieved them and the object they had been sent in for.

* * *

 **He was leaning against the wall trying to support his own bodyweight and his gasps of pain were like music to her ears.**

Returning to the substation, the team reconvened with the general presiding over the mission wrap up.

Bryce sat in a seat with ice packs to his more prominent bruises, but he was stoic about how much it hurt. Casey stood to the side guarding the object of their mission.

When Sarah entered the room, she was relieved to see Chuck. He was leaning against the wall trying to support his own bodyweight and his gasps of pain were like music to her ears. It was just some bruising from the rough landing and loss of breath from racing through the streets; he would be fine after a little rest.

Guiding him to the other seat, she made sure he had a few ice packs for his injuries as well.

Casting a proud glance sideways, Bryce encouraged Chuck. "Not bad for someone who wasn't trained the usual way. I think you're better for the unconventionality of your methods."

Smiling, Chuck was pleased with the compliment.

Clearing her throat, the general got their attention as she wound down the meeting.

* * *

 **Id' know that smirk anywhere.**

As the meeting ended, the agents were released back to their normal lives. The plan was that they would disperse as if nothing had happened. Chuck and Sarah would return to the Buymore, Casey would move on to a new assignment, and Bryce would resume his Neal role with the FBI.

"I'd know that smirk anywhere." Chuck grinned as he realized Bryce had an idea.

"You are an old school friend of mine… I could say we ran into each other and you forced me to play paintball as payback for something from our old school days." Bryce grinned back in his Neal persona.

Getting the idea, Chuck smiled. They would have excuses for their bruises, and they could keep in touch going into the future. "I'm sure we can postpone our flight for a few hours… tomorrow afternoon wouldn't be too late."

Beside him, Sarah liked the plan.

They would paintball the next morning to provide stories for their cover lives when they returned to normal on Monday, but they would have cover stories to show up in each other's lives should Chuck visit Neal in the future.

* * *

Thank you, everyone, for reading, reviewing/commenting, following, leaving kudos, and choosing to favorite :D

Alrighty now, the votes took until later in the week to come in, but we've got a lead for the Co-Authorship: "Con or Man: to be or not to be" with Persuassioned coming in second. I was planning to post Persuassion until the votes came in so here's what I'm thinking. The Co-Authorship isn't a long fic so we ejoy it, then another round of voting, and then I will post Persuasioned if it hasn't been voted for in the meanwhile. This way you readers get a few decisions on whats next before we embark on my longest adventure presently completed and in the meanwhile, I'm working with Peter and Neal and the rest of the crew to set up some new twists for you to explore later ;)


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